Impressions

Now nearer to reality than anything…

a soul, conquered happy nightmare

Breathed in young happy lungs

this trap, this well cut box which houses

this land of quiet lanes in June,

strips of gravel in golden fields so vast

the eye cannot finish before the mind has bought it,

renting its rooms to lofty cities, graffiti’s dreams,

the odds and ends of life, soft butterflies pressed into

books, my dad studying horses at the racetrack

while the schizophrenic are nearer to believing in God

than everyone else.